


Jaqen and Arya Week: Of the Night

by OfRosesAndRavenstags



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Lemons, Mild Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, lemonade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfRosesAndRavenstags/pseuds/OfRosesAndRavenstags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically a group of chapters to fit the daily Tumblr prompts for Arya and Jaqen week. There will probably be eventual smut, hence the rating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "A boy has more courage than sense."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theelusiveflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/gifts).



> Thanks for checking this out. Enjoy, and please comment. :) Thank you, drownedbyyourstandards, for showing me this lovely week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: Guys, I fixed the formatting! It shouldn't suck so much to read now.

**_Chapter One: Day One._ **

**A/N: Whelp, somebody was kind enough to show me the prompts for “Arya and Jaqen Week” on Tumblr, so I decided to write this for day one. It’s AU, slightly OOC, and takes place when Jaqen was still a prisoner of the Night’s Watch. Enjoy, and please take the time to review. ;)**

“ _A boy has more courage than sense._ ”

Arya— _Arry,_ rather—found the key three days later. It was a rusted thing, undoubtably old, poking out from Yoren’s waistband. The mobile prison was the only thing that was locked in their camp, the only thing Yoren would have the key to, the only lock that said key could possibly go to.

It was hard for Arya to take the key off the senior member of the Night’s Watch, but she managed to slip it off his belt one evening while he was passed out, drunk.

Now, she had the oxidized, iron key clutched tightly in one fist, needle in the other as she crept across the camp grounds. She stepped over snoring men and boys, progressively making her way through the dark to the place where the three prisoners of the Night Watch were.

Ever since her last encounter with the prisoners, Arya had been unable to get a certain red-headed male out of her head. His voice, so husky and different, had seduced her. He didn’t look like any other man that Arya had ever seen before. The way he spoke intrigued her.

A hand gripped at her ankle suddenly, stopping Arya right in her tracks. She bit her lip, hard, trying to keep herself from screaming.

Her eyes glanced at the hand, following up the meaty, dirty arm to see whom the appendage belonged to. Luckily, when she saw the face, she realized the man who had grabbed her was still asleep and muttering to himself drunkenly.

Arya shook her leg slightly, kicking the man’s hand away and continuing on her way across camp. The night was a cloudless one: the moon, near-full, sent broken beams of light across the forest floor. Stars, in their vast millions, could be spotted without effort. Arya smiled when she noticed a constellation that Jon had shown her years ago.

Scattered snores filled her ears, the scent of sweat and pine inundating her nostrils. She spotted the gated cart in the distance, moonshine glimmering off the single white streak in Jaqen H’ghar’s hair. As she got closer to the prisoners, she could see that they were all sleeping.

Rorge and Biter were both sprawled out across the cart floor, with puddles of drool and sweat formed beneath their large bodies. Jugs stained by ale were clutched in their fat fists. Loud, overly obnoxious snores flew from their cracked lips. When Arya finally stood beside the cell, she could smell their stink.

They were the epitomes of hideous.

Her gaze finally fell on Jaqen, who was propped up elegantly in the corner nearest her. He was undoubtably dirty, too, though the grime was much more mild on him. His lashes, long and coppery, fanned out gently. A strong jawbone and pronounced cheekbones gave him angular features. Arya found the sight of the man—whom she, in truth, knew little of—almost beautiful.

“A rose amidst weeds,” she whispered adoringly, seeing exactly how much better he was than his companions.

“She steals in on little mouse feet,” Jaqen stated suddenly, his golden eyes snapping open, “but a man sees. To a man with open ears, the scuff of leather upon leaves is nearly deafening. Clever girls go barefoot.”

Arya stepped back, her lips parting in surprise. “I thought you were asleep—“

“A man was—before he heard a lovely girl, anyway.” A toothless grin crossed his features, his face clear in a single beam of moonlight. His body shifted, turning towards Arya and pressing itself nearer to the bars of the cell.

She tightened her grasp on the key self-consciously, ignoring the biting of teeth upon her calloused skin. “I’m not a girl.”

“Shh,” he hushed smoothly, bringing a single slim finger to his lips. “A girl’s secret is safe with a man.”

“How did you know?”

Jaqen shrugged as though uninterested. “A man sees, a man hears. It took no time to discover the truth, lovely girl.”

Arya fidgeted uncomfortably. The key weighed a thousand pounds in her palm. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“It’s not a man’s secret to tell.”

She didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, she couldn’t remember why she had ever even looked for the key to the prison cell, why she had even bother risking to take it from Yoren’s belt, why she had even come here. Sweat slicked her palms, cold and awkward. She averted her eyes to the ground as though suddenly interested in the thousands of pine needles that had settled upon the earth.

Jaqen spoke after seemingly years of silence, his voice like the sweetest of honey. “What is it, exactly, that a girl plans upon doing with the key in her fist?”

She looked up at him, stunned. “W-what are you talking about?”

He smiled lazily, not unlike a cat. “A girl’s right palm”—he nods towards the key hidden in her hand—“the very key to this horrid cell is in it, is it not?”

Arya places the hand behind her back.

“Better not grasp it too tightly. There’s blood leaking where the teeth have cut a girl’s lovely flesh. A man only noticed and assumed that, between the fists and her being here, that she had the key to get a man out.”

“I don’t like Biter or the other one,” Arya admitted softly.

Jaqen nodded. “Rorge—yes. A hideous and cruel creature. But, a man does not—“

“—Choose his companions,” Arya finished for him, remembering their earlier conversation. Carefully, she moved her palm into a patch of moonlight and released her fist, letting Jaqen view the rusted key she had tried so hard to fetch from Yoren’s belt. Sure enough, when she glanced down, she could see that there was indeed blood spreading across her skin and touching the sides of the key.

“A man repeats his previous question.” He sounded bored. “What is it, exactly, that a girl plans to do with her key _?_ ”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“A man repays his debts, he assures a girl.”

A small smile played on Arya’s lips at the sound of that. “If I free you, will you do something for me in return?”

He raised a coppery eyebrow. “What does a girl desire?”

Arya didn’t know. She wanted the people on her list to be killed, she wanted to return home to her family, she wanted to learn how to fight, she wanted, she wanted, she wanted. But what could a measly prisoner like Jaqen H’ghar possibly give her?

“A man is more talented than a girl gives him credit for,” Jaqen stated, breaking Arya from her thoughts. “He has many faces, many skills.”

“How do I know I can trust you to fulfill your end of the bargain if I release you?”

More of the bored tone, mixed now with slight hopefulness. “A man is currently weaponless, while a lovely girl has her needle, and he keeps his word. Slide your key in the lock, sweet girl, and a man will pay his debts.”

“Can you bring me to my family?”

Jaqen frowned. “That seems like an awful lot to pay for a simple sleight of the wrist.”

Arya bit her lip. “What can you give me, then?”

“A man has a lot to offer; a girl needs only to name her price.”

Rorge rolled onto his back, startling Arya. The dirty, fat man groaned slightly, his snores only pausing temporarily before they were resuming full tilt. Jaqen payed him no mind.

“You promise you’ll do something in return if I release you? And you won’t harm anyone?”

He nodded. “A man keeps his word.”

It was then that Arya made up her mind. _A boy has more courage than sense._ She figured that Jaqen’s words were true, though she thought that the courage would get her farther in this scenario than sense would.

She rotated the rusty bar of iron in her hand, feeling the rush of a cool wind against her blood-dampened flesh. She lifted her arm to the lock of the cell, slowly, steadily, forcing herself to breathe in and out evenly. Her heart rate increased all the same.

The moon was a lamp, lighting her way as she slid the key home with trembling fingers. “Yoren and Gendry told me to stay away from you,” she stated quietly, nervously.

“When has a lovely girl ever heeded the warnings of others?” He was laughing, shaking his head as though he had known Arya for years instead of hours.

The key turned with her wrist. The lock snapped open. “Where are you from, Jaqen H’ghar?”

“A girl chooses now of all times to ask a man questions of his origin? Braavos, sweet girl, home of the faceless.”

Arya’s curiosity was quickly piqued. “Are you a faceless man?”

Smoothly, Jaqen toed open the door, gently moving himself towards Arya. “If a girl truly wishes to know,” he said slowly, “yes. A man has worn many faces.”

There was a brief moment of silence between them. There were crickets chirping in the distance—oddly, considering the season—and the faint scuffle of leather upon the ground as sleeping men tossed and turned in their sleep. Varying snores cut through the chilly night air, a slight breeze nipping at Arya’s cheeks and hands.

“Teach me,” Arya ordered boldly, out of the blue, her voice hushed though it cut through the air sharply.

Jaqen was completely out of the cell now, standing eerily close to Arya, leaning close enough to her that she could smell him, all ginger and cloves and musk. His lips touched her ear, his teeth skimming her skin as he spoke. “That a man can do,” he said, “of a girl is willing to come with a man.”

A shiver ran down her spine, and she took a step back, her figure nearly hidden in the darkness, though she got the sense that Jaqen’s eyes were good in the dark. “Where are you going?”

“A man is going across the sea to Braavos, lovely girl.”

“I need to go to my family, return home—“

He was behind her all of a sudden, his lips again at her ear. “A man can only teach if a girl is willing.”

She turned, only to see he was gone again, his scent still lingering despite the fact that his figure was nowhere to be seen. “Jaqen,” she hissed.

A whoosh of air and he was before her again, not a single noise to be heard when he moved. He had an amused grin on his face. “Yes?”

His demeanor both intrigued and frightened her, but she made up her mind. She wanted to honor her dancing master’s sacrifice to her. She wanted to continue her training, learn to be stealthy, deadly. “I’ll go with you,” she breathed in his direction, looking around nervously. “When do we leave?”

He moved nearer until she could feel his breath against her cheeks and a blush rising along her skin. “A girl must be sure,” he stated, his eyes searching hers intensely.

“Teach me,” she repeated, her voice steady in the dark. His breath was so warm on her face, so inviting, and she wondered suddenly what it would feel like to have his lips touching her, tasting her—

“A man will grab two horses.” Jaqen broke her out of the reverie she had stumbled into. “Have your friend—the pudgy one—find a man and his lovely girl some food. A girl will make sure she is ready to leave in fifteen minutes, okay?”

Arya nodded, about to say something, but the mysterious, red-haired man was already gone. She stood there momentarily, slightly in shock, her frame illuminated by the moon and her breaths visible in the night air.  

She looked for Jaqen, foolishly, as she turned to walk back towards camp to fetch the food he had requested for their journey, but _only a faint smell remained of him, a whiff of ginger and cloves in the air…_

**A/N: Haha, I’ve just decided, after writing that last line, what I want to do for this week. I’m going to try to make one story, with each chapter following the daily prompts. Let’s see if I can do this… :P**


	2. Day Two: Only a faint smell remained of him, a whiff of ginger and cloves in the air.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Two of Arya and Jaqen Week on Tumblr. "Only a faint smell remained of him, a whiff of ginger and cloves in the air. "
> 
> A collection of short, prompt-fulfilling chapters that, when read together, form a short story about Jaqen and Arya. Definitely AU and OOC. Possibly M in future chapters, though it is currently K.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whelp, I had meant to post one chapter a day, but that obviously didn't happen, so, here chapter two is, I guess. :P  
> Please note that Arya is much older in this fic than she is in the books or the TV show. 
> 
> UPDATE: I fixed the formatting! Finally.

**_Chapter Two: Day Two_ **

_Only a faint smell remained of him, a whiff of ginger and cloves in the air._

Arya decided by the second day of their journey that she quite liked the way he smelled. His scent wasn’t overbearing: she could only catch a whiff of him when she was close or downwind. They hadn’t yet stopped to bathe—she didn’t want to ask, didn’t really care, and didn’t know if Jaqen intended to—though he smelled no different than he did when they left. She, on the other hand, smelled of sweat and leather and horse.

It was only when the sun was hanging low on the horizon that Jaqen finally drew his steed to the side, letting Arya pull up beside him. A deer took off in the forest in front of them, and a single raven hawked in their direction. The air was warm, though they both knew it would be a chilly night.

“Would a lovely girl like to make camp tonight?” Jaqen asked, his red hair swaying in the light breeze.

Arya nodded, her ass sore from the days of non-stop riding. “Can we make a fire?”

He snook his head quickly. “A man thinks that such a blaze would draw too much unwanted attention. It is best to go without.”

They both slid off their mounts, and Arya tied both the horses to a nearby tree. Jaqen left to fetch some water from a nearby stream, leaving Arya to dig the blankets and food out of their saddlebags. As the sun dipped fully beneath the skyline, the air began to get colder. Arya was nearly positive that it was going to get below freezing during the night.

Jaqen returned eventually, two leather containers in hand. “A man found a hot spring not a mile away,” he stated, setting himself down on the dirt beside Arya. “A girl can bathe, if she wishes, in the morning.”

Arya felt like she was becoming her sister when she felt excitement at the sounds of taking a hot bath, but she couldn’t help it. She hadn’t taken a _hot_ bath in over a year—all that she had been able to find was cold brook water which was barely worth all the freezing.

It was getting late, the sun had fallen and the moon was already high in the sky. “I’m going to sleep,” Arya stated eventually, taking the hem of a blanket in hand and moving herself to lay on the forest floor.

Jaqen nodded, his eyes golden in the moonlight and his face beautiful. He stood up from his crouch, his muscles flexing in the dimming lights. He turned on his heel and began to walk into the darkness.

“Where are you going?” Arya asked, failing to fully mask the concern in her voice. _Please don’t abandon me,_ she thought. _Please, Jaqen. Please, please—_

He chuckled, pausing to throw her a lopsided grin over his shoulder. “A man will take watch.”

“Oh.” She felt stupid for worrying. “Thanks.”

The redheaded man disappeared into the dark, without sound. Arya settled down onto the frozen ground, taking another blanket and wrapping it around her petite form. She thought for a bit, laying there on the cold ground, first about her family, though her thoughts quickly drifted to the ever-mysterious man whom she was traveling with.

She fell asleep wondering about his past, questioning why he had been taken prisoner to the night watch. She thought of that odd patch of silver in his hair, and wondered how it had gotten there. She saw those golden eyes—almost Lannister eyes, though so much more powerful, yet less despotic. His jaw, his cheeks, his lean frame…

 

 

* * *

Faintly, Arya could feel fingernails lightly dragging up her forearms, tickling her enough to rouse her from sleep. Her eyes snapped open, revealing a black pupil surrounded by millions of tiny specks of gold and green and blue. She gasped, reeling.

Jaqen raised an eyebrow casually, but made no comment about her surprise. “A man thinks it would be best if him and a girl were to get going,” he stated, standing.

A blush spread beneath her pale skin. “Yes, of course. Are we stopping at the hot spring?”

Jaqen nodded, folding blankets and packing their few collective belongings back into their bags. He took two modest rolls out of the food supply and untied the horses. “It will take fifteen minutes on horseback to get to the spring.” He tossed Arya some bread and handed her the white mare she had ridden yesterday.

She yawned, carefully placing the food between her teeth as she climbed into the saddle. “Thank you,” she mumbled, her words garbled.

They rode steadily on a small deer trail through the woods. Jaqen gracefully ducked branches and weaved his horse around the sticks, the rising sun gleaming off his hair. Occasionally, Arya would lose track of him in the thicket—even his horse was eerily quiet—but he would always return to her.

After what felt like much longer than a quarter of hour, they entered a small clearing that had filled with steam. Sunlight filtered through tall pines, glinting off the partially hidden water. Arya let the steam flow through her nostrils, giving her an odd, clean feeling.

Jaqen slid off his horse, lazing tying the reins to a nearby tree. Without so much as looking at Arya, he began to stride towards the pool of water, his fingers deftly moving at the laces of his top. The garment was off his shoulders in seconds, leaving his tan, muscular shoulders exposed. His frame was quickly swallowed up by the steam, nothing but a silhouette to be seen.

Arya stared at where he had disappeared for a moment, unsure of what she should do. Almost robotically, she threw a leg over the side of her steed, letting her feet slip from the stirrups and fall to the forest floor quietly. Her feet carried her towards the heart of the steam and, eventually, she spotted Jaqen once again.

His clothes were in a pile next to the water, and his lithe frame was soaking in the heated spring. Tan, scarred shoulders gracefully emerged from the pool, his torso hidden. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed in obvious pleasure. His red hair hung heavily, dark with saturation.

“It is not polite for a lovely girl to stare,” he stated after a moment, not bothering to open his eyes.

Arya shook her head as if snapping out of a trance. “I wasn’t staring.”

A raised eyebrow. “No?”

“Hurry up,” she barked. “I want to bathe, too.”

“A girl is welcome to join a man, if she is unwilling to wait.”

Arya bit the inside of her cheek. She was tempted to join him. “That would be improper.”

His eyes opened fractionally, looking her over lazily. “Fine, then. A girl can wait her turn.”

She huffed. “Just be quick.”

_His hand moved suddenly, splashing hot water at her, and Arya had to leap back to keep from getting drenched…_


	3. Day Three: His hand moved suddenly, splashing hot water at her...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Three's Prompt: "His hand moved suddenly, splashing hot water at her..."  
> Day Four's Prompt: "Jaqen makes me brave again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! It's International Fanworks Day, so I decided to plow through and write this chapter to get it up for you guys. Thank you to anyone who's been following this, giving kudos, and commenting.   
> I apologize in advance, but I may have made some serious errors when it comes to technical things for the time period, such as dialogue and all that jazz, plus, I don't have a beta, so that certainly isn't helping (I'm still looking for one, if anyone's interested).

**_Chapter Three: Day Three_ **

_His hand moved suddenly, splashing hot water at her, and Arya had to leap back to keep from getting drenched._ Water hit the ground just before her, along with her ankles. Steam floated from the ground. 

Her lips parted in surprise. “What the hell, Jaqen?”

He grinned, his eyes slipping closed. 

“What was that for?”

Jaqen shrugged, making small ripples in the water. “A girl needs to learn to relax a bit; the time for seriousness will come later.”

A cool breeze whipped through the trees, crawling under Arya’s filthy clothes and chilling her to the bone. The cold gripped tightly at her dampened ankles. A shiver ran through her, and she began to rub her hands against her arms. 

The water Jaqen was lounging in was steaming—obviously much warmer than the air. Arya bent down and felt the warmth of it tickling her elbows. She sucked in a hard breath, exhaled, watched it fog in the air, and made a decision: She wasn’t going to wait for Jaqen to finish. 

Her hands shook slightly as she untied her over-shirt and shrugged the material off her shoulders. She looked to Jaqen, saw that his eyes were still closed, and continued undressing. Arya pulled her pants down off her hips and stepped out of them, leaving her in nothing but sheer undergarments. She moved to step into the pool of the hot-spring.

“Does a girl usually bathe clothed?” His eyes were still closed. 

Against her will, she blushed. “What? N-no, of course not.”

He said nothing back to her. 

Glancing down at herself, Arya let her fingers find the ties of her underclothes. _He’s not looking at you,_ she reasoned. _His eyes are closed and, besides, you’ll be neck-deep in the water soon, and the air is clouded by the steam. He won’t see a thing. Bathing with clothes is impractical._

Arya pulled at the strings, watching as they came undone. She shrugged out of the shirt and stepped out of the pants, letting the light, cream-colored fabrics pool at her feet. Clumsily, she toed them into a pile before she stepped closer to the edge of the pool. 

Her big toe touched the surface, spreading a series of gentle ripples across the water. The steam almost tickled her bare skin and the water felt heavenly, so clean and warm and fresh. She stepped in to her ankles. 

“Just outside of Braavos,” Jaqen said suddenly, “a man can find many pools like this one. They rest under palms amidst deserts, but still feel rejuvenating.”

Arya snapped her gaze back towards him, only to find that he hadn’t moved any. His eyes were still lightly shut, his hair dripping slightly onto his neck and collarbones. A halo of steam surrounded him. 

She walked a few more steps, being careful not to slip on the rocks at the bottom of the pool. The water was nearly scalding, Arya realized as she sat down, a sigh escaping her lips. Her tense muscles were soothed by the heat, the tension and pain of the past few days slipping from them in waves. She didn’t think before she let her eyes shut contentedly, a genuine smile beginning to play on her lips. 

“Does a lovely girl want some soap?”

_Soap? Oh, gods, yes._ “You brought soap with us?”

“A man knows its best to be prepared.”

His hand was on hers suddenly, lifting it to set a light bar of soap into it. That slight scent of what could only be labeled as ginger and cloves lightly carrying through the air. When Arya opened her eyes, she could see Jaqen standing besides her, the water just barely to his waist. 

She couldn’t stop her eyes from traveling along the length of his torso. Jaqen was slender and tall, as though sculpted by the best of artists. His stomach had gentle ridges of muscle and his biceps were both graceful- and strong-looking. 

Jaqen grinned lopsidedly before retreating quietly to his end of the spring. He sat down, his body disappearing once again underneath the water. Smoothly, he dunked his head under, too, resurfacing a moment later to flip the hair out of his eyes. 

Arya mimicked him, rubbing the soap into her hands and then her hair, rinsing the suds out to leave her feeling more clean than she had felt in a long while. The soap was nothing overly special—it was the same musty-scented kind of bar that Yoren had made everyone use, which wasn’t half as nice as the stuff she had used back in Winterfell—but it and the water combined were not unlike magic. 

She scrubbed the layers of dirt off her skin with each pass, and soon there was a sheen of oil and dirt on the surface of the water, floating between her an Jaqen. Within minutes, she had worn the bar down to a sliver, and she set it down on the edge of the pool. 

“A man and a lovely girl should continue on their way,” Jaqen stated. “Braavos is far off, across the sea.”

Arya nodded, her eyes finding the pile of her clothes. “All right.”

Neither of them moved for a minute. Jaqen was looking at her lazily, his eyes unashamedly roving along her shoulders and face, occasionally glancing at the water. Arya wondered nervously if he could see her—all of her. 

Somehow, Jaqen had made it to the edge of the pool silently, and was pulling himself out of the water with a certain elegance. Arya knew she should remove her gaze from him, that he could probably sense her watching him— _Jaqen seemed to be able to sense everything_ —but she found her eyes glued to his back as he walked, naked, towards his clothes. 

The muscles of his shoulders flexed as he moved, and Arya noticed that, at the bottom of his spine, he had these two slight indentations that she found herself fascinated by. She saw a single drop of water fall from his hair, and watched as it elegantly trailed down his neck and back before it finally disappeared in the curve of his ass. 

She heard a slight rustling as he gathered his clothes and stepped out of sight. One of the horses whinnied in the distance, the sound carrying clearly and echoing off the trees. With a sigh, Arya hauled herself out of the water, quickly finding her underclothes and shrugging them on hastily despite the fact that part of her knew that Jaqen wasn’t watching her—not like she had just watched him. He was too stealthy, too collected for that, she knew. He was a man who could get what he wanted, and if it was a woman that he wanted, he could win her over fully and not need to resort to something as low as watching her from the shadows as she stepped out of the bath. 

When Arya managed to dress herself fully and make her way back to the horses, Jaqen was already astride one and eating an apple. He offered her one. 

“Thanks,” she said, taking it and climbing onto her mare. The image of Jaqen’s naked form flashed in her head momentarily, making her blush before she could shove the thought aside. She spurred her horse on before he could see it. “Which way?”

“East.”

They went on their way, continuing through the woods for another few hours before they made it onto a larger trail. It wasn’t a main road, by any means, and it certainly wasn’t the Kingsroad, but Arya knew that was a good thing. They’d need to stay out of sight until absolutely necessary, and they’d only be safe when they finally reached Braavos. _Well, as safe as you can be with Lord Varys’s ‘little birds’ everywhere._

They spent the rest of the day riding, only taking the occasional break to piss or cook some of the watery soup they had brought with them. Night began to fall after a while, and Arya pondered asking Jaqen when they were going to stop. 

“If a man and a lovely girl ride through the night without stop, they should be able to reach the ports by the next noon, where they can catch a ship to Braavos,” Jaqen said suddenly, as though reading her minds. 

_It’s slightly creepy how he seems to be capable of doing that,_ she thought. “All right. How are we going to afford to get a ride on a ship?”

He patted one of the saddlebags. “A man collected what he was due before he left. There’s enough to purchase some food and a room on a merchant’s ship.”

“Oh.” 

Jaqen and Arya walked their horses through the dark, keeping their heads down or ducking off the road whenever someone came by them. The last think Arya needed was to be recognized by someone—she didn’t think it probable, considering that Yoren cut her hair and that she was never the popular Stark daughter, anyway, but, if she were noticed, it definitely wouldn’t end well.

Once, about half way through the night, they passed a cart filled with carrots and apples, and Jaqen smoothly snatched a few for the two of them. A little while later, Arya ate the rest of their soup—cold, but she didn’t want to waste time stopping to heat it—and Jaqen ate the heel of their last loaf of bread.

The sun eventually rose, hauling itself above the trees and pushing the moon down the horizon. Taking their third right, Jaqen and Arya turned into a large clearing, the sound of people and animals convoluted yet audible in the distance. 

Subconsciously, Arya spurred her horse to a faster pace, wanting to see what was over the next hill. She caught a whiff of salt in the air, and she could almost sense the ocean and the business of the ports. 

Jaqen chuckled. “A lovely girl has waited for days, and yet it is now, only minutes away, that she finds herself the most impatient.”

“What’s beyond that hill?” she asked, trying and failing to hide her eagerness. 

“Ships, merchants, and an endless sea.”

Their horses crested the hill, and Arya almost gasped at the beauty of the scene before her. There was dung and dirt and dying animals, but that’s not what she saw. She saw the white-crested waves breaking as they hit the docks, the large ships with mermaids and beautiful women on their hulls, the colorful silks and spices being unloaded, and the flags of faraway places that she had always dreamt of visiting. 

Jaqen pulled a sword out of a saddlebag, tucking it visibly into the belt of his trousers. It was a crude-looking weapon—undoubtably something he had stolen from one of Yoren’s drunkards—but it served its purpose of stating, “don’t-fuck-with-me-or-I-just-may-kill-you.”

“A man would not want someone to think they can get away with mistreating him,” Jaqen said in explanation, urging his horse onward down the hill. 

The slope was muddy, and Arya had to slow her horse to a walk to keep it from slipping. When they both reached the bottom, joining the main road, the noisiness of the scene fully hit her. Men were calling at each other, barking orders, and others were urging animals onward and hauling loud carts. Arya even spotted a container of monkeys that were howling at each other, and then there were another two that were filled to the brim with exotic-looking birds. 

Jaqen pulled his horse up next to a tan-skinned merchant who was dressed in golden robes. “How much would it cost a man for him and a girl to ride to Braavos?”

The merchant looked Jaqen and Arya over lazily, turning back after a moment to fuss over a crate of spices. “More than you can afford,” the man stated. 

“Name a price.” Jaqen’s hand not-so-subtly touched the pommel of his sword. 

The merchant scowled. “Twenty silver dragons.”

“A man thinks that a merchant can lower his price slightly. Ten dragons for one room on board.”

“I said the price was twenty. Nothing less.”

Jaqen reached into a bag, pulling out a single coin. He flicked it at the merchant’s feet. “A man serves the Red God,” Jaqen drawled threateningly, “and he fears the god may be in need of a sacrifice.”

“You’re faceless,” the merchant stated, more to himself than Jaqen, his face turning pale as he studied the coin. “I do not like your kind aboard my ships.”

“A man promises that no harm will be done by his hand so long as he and a girl are allowed passage to the golden city.”

“Fine,” the merchant allowed eventually, still scowling but obviously no longer in the mood to argue. “Ten dragons for you and the girl. The ship sets off as soon as I’m back on it.”

Jaqen grinned victoriously, tossing a small pouch of coins into the merchants hands. He took the coin back—the special one that had made the merchant blanch—and looked back at Arya. 

Her eyes were wide. _What makes faceless men so powerful? They’re assassins, but what was the importance of that coin?_

“It’s _The Lady Sand_ ,” the merchant said, pointing at a large, wooden ship with pale, pink sails. There was a naked woman carved into the bow, her hair long and spread back as though amidst a gentle breeze. _The woman who modeled her must have been Dornish_ , Arya noted, thinking of all the stories she had heard about Oberyn Martell and his Sands. 

Jaqen and her dismounted, boarding the ship just before the merchant did. It wasn’t long before the crew was rushing around them, the captain shouting orders as they pushed away from the docks, letting the sails catch wind. 

Arya leaned against the railing of the ship for a while, staring off at the horizon. Her ass and thighs were sore from the riding, and her hands were rubbed raw from holding the reins for so long, but she could hardly feel it beneath all of her excitement and elation. She kept thinking about how beautiful Braavos would be, and found her eyes glued on the horizon, constantly searching for the first sign of the beautiful city. 

Once, she looked back towards the port they had just set off from, watching as the strip of land got smaller and smaller, slowly being replaced by a large expanse of green sea as they got farther away from the Lannisters and the Baratheons and the Greyjoys. She hardly heard the crew bustling around her, and let her eyes close as the wind whipped around her. She felt free, she realized—a feeling she hadn’t felt for a long while. 

Jaqen moved to stand beside her, his spicy scent almost completely masked by the saltiness of the air. “A lovely girl should be standing on the dry lands of Braavos within half a fortnight,” he stated, his voice raised to carry through the air. 

_I never would have had the courage to do any of this—not without Jaqen,_ Arya thinks _. Without him, I’d still be with Yoren and the Night’s Watch, doing stupid chores and unappealing things. I’d be trapped, constantly in fear that someone from the Lannisters would be out to get me. Now, I’m on my way to Braavos with a faceless man, planning to learn the ways of the best assassins. I'm not going to be scared or weak anymore._

_Jaqen makes me brave again,_ she realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. I know what I’m thinking, and what some of you may be thinking, too: “When the hell is the smut going to come in?” Well, my lovelies, I’m not entirely sure, but it will come in before the end of this, I promise. There’s a distinct possibility that it may come in during chapter seven or something. (I was going to write it in this chapter, but I didn’t think it fit for Arya to lose her virginity within a hot spring. Jaqen’s a little more classy than that.)   
> Regardless, thanks for reading. I’m glad that you all seem to be liking this so far, even if it takes me forever to update. :P All of your comments and kudos mean a lot to me.   
> Again, sorry for the plethora of mistakes and if this chapter was super duper lame. It'll get better!


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